


Curiosity

by afterandalasia



Category: Peter Pan (1953)
Genre: Community: disney_kink, F/M, Facials, Fae & Fairies, Grinding, Macro/Micro, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6598468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As everyone knows, fairies are so small that there is only room in them for one emotion at a time; of course, this means that when fairies are lustful, they are <i>completely</i> lustful.</p><p>Tinker Bell comes across a sleeping Peter, and decides to pleasure herself in whatever way she can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lai_lai_ramna](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lai_lai_ramna).



> From the [prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/361.html?thread=1678953) at Disney Kink, formally deanoning here.
> 
> Peter's age is not stated, but since he's far older than he looks I have not marked this as underage.

As everyone knows, fairies are so small that there is only room in them for one emotion at a time. Peter, of all people, was used to this idea and knew that when Tinkerbell was angry, she was _completely_ angry, or when she was happy, she was _completely_ happy, and so on and so forth.  
  
Of course, this means that when fairies are lustful, they are _completely_ lustful, and there is nothing else that can intrude on their thoughts than what they are concentrating on. Luckily, the moods of fairies are generally slow to change, and do not take too many forms. This meant that only occasionally does a fairy find themselves around humans when a mood such as lustfulness takes them, and usually they will return to their own kind when it begins to tug at them.  
  
But not always.  
  
  
  
  
  
As with humans, moods are all but contagious among the fairy folk. Peter, usually being happy, was quite popular with fairies for this very reason. One evening, Tinkerbell had found herself feeling troubled - where this troublement had, of course, taken over her completely - and had decided to visit Peter.  
  
She did not find him awake, but that did not really matter. Even in his sleep, Peter was usually smiling, even sometimes laughing very quietly to himself.  
  
This time, he was not. Tinkerbell flitted under the curtain by Peter's hammock, landed on him, and made her way up his thigh, looking at him curiously all the way. He was curled on his side, breathing softly through his mouth, lips parted and all shiny-wet. Heat seemed to radiate off his body, stronger than usual, and Tinkerbell took flight for a moment or two as he rolled over onto his back, before settling on the front of his thigh once again.  
  
A murmur passed his lips. From where she stood, Tinkerbell became aware that she was near the junction of his thighs, his hips and groin. Her tiny figure gave off a glow in the light that pooled in his lap, throwing into relief the bulge beneath his tights, and sending little tremors rushing through her that quickly rolled over into hot lust. She had, of course, experienced sex with her own kind, but she had always been just a little bit curious about whether humans were made in the same way as were fairies, and how it might work for them.  
  
His tunic had been pushed up as he slept to reveal the base of his stomach, a few stray pale hairs forming a line down it and disappearing beneath his tights. Usually they did not lie flat, having a little give in them to be comfortable, but now she could see the bulge of him underneath, set to one side by gravity, firmly outlined in the fabric.  
  
That wouldn't do at all. Lifting the top edge of his tights, Tink pulled them down, using the force of her wings when it became clear that her arms alone would not do. Finally they tugged away, slipping from her hands and leaving her bumping on her rear down Peter's thigh, until with a shake of irritation she managed to pull herself to her feet once again. She wet her lips as she fluttered back along him again, giving his tights one more tug to ensure that they were pulled right down to expose him fully.  
  
Like fairies, then, but on a larger scale, she decided. Peter's cock stood almost as long as she was tall, so that if she stood on tiptoe she could just peer down onto the head of it, and about as broad across as her shoulders for most of the shaft. It was irregular, not a perfect circle, and flushed a dark pink compared to the rest of his skin - and to hers, as she ran a hand down its side. She could feel his pulse in the long vein that ran up in front of her. His balls nestled against his thighs, beneath her feet, curls of fine reddish hair tickling at her calves as she walked slowly around the straightening shaft. She let one hand drift around it as she did so, running over the skin. Normally, human skin felt coarse to her, but this was almost as smooth and soft as her own.

He smelt of skin and sweat, with a musky edge that reminded her of sex, though it was not quite the same as she knew. It was pleasant; she reached in to run her tongue over his skin, but there was no difference to the taste of him there, and it must have been like the tiniest drop of water against him. Craning up on to her tiptoes, she ran her hand instead across the shining curve of his glans, the reddish surface glistening wet and glossy soft beneath her touch. She raised her hand to her lips to taste it, revelling in the slippery salt liquid against her lips and tongue, the way that it sent shivers of pleasure and heat all the way down her.  
  
His foreskin was not quite pulled all of the way back, and she took hold of it with both hands, soft and warm beneath her grip. It slid easily down to reveal the whole of him, the slight bulb of the head, and she ran her hands over it in broad greedy circles.  
  
Shifting closer, Tinkerbell pressed her body up against Peter's cock, the thin leaf-fabric of her dress doing nothing to deaden the firmness of his flesh against her breasts and belly, the heat of his blood pulsing to her touch. With a sigh, she nuzzled against the line of his frenulum, feeling him - and therefore herself - sway with every increasingly rapid breath that he took. His width was such that she could press her thighs against him, wrap her arms around him and barely have them cross at the far side, and she pressed herself into him and breathed in the scent and the sensation of his arousal.  
  
She nuzzled her face against his shaft, let her body mould and press with her own breathing and his quickening pulse. Her hands moved up to run over his glans, slick now covering running down her wrists and in trickles down her arms. One ran along the slit at the top, and Peter shivered, the movement like an earthquake beneath her. Liking it, Tinkerbell repeated the movements, her hands sweeping around the slit until it seeped more liquid over them, Peter's arousal both tangible on her hands and echoing through her emotions, running over her until she realised that she had tilted her hips to grind them against him, the size of his shaft like nothing that she had ever felt between her thighs before.  
  
A little sound of tinkling bells escaped her as she moaned, lust building in her. Impulsively, she fluttered upwards some inches, until she was above and looking down on the smooth circular head of him. It seemed to reach yearningly up towards her, and with another tinkling moan she settled herself down onto it.  
  
It was so wide that her thighs could barely stretch around it, but the heat pouring off Peter's skin combined with her own to send thrills through her. Tinkerbell circled her hips against the head of Peter's cock, her hands steadying herself and thighs tight around him to hold herself in place, throwing back her head and closing her eyes. It felt like nothing she had known, so unbearably large, slippery between her hands and on the inside of her thighs; she found one of the edges of his slit, and it fit perfectly against her. Hands tightening, she rode along it, the hard slippery surface against her pussy just right, just perfect, but even as she rolled her hips against it she could not help but feel like there was something missing.  
  
Peter groaned slightly in his sleep, shifting and sending his cock bobbing so that she had to squeeze tighter to hold on as his hips lifted. Then, with a grunt, she felt the skin beneath her thighs grow tenser, his whole cock jerking as thick white streams flooded up around her. Cum flooded up her front, soaking her dress, coating half her face. A second, third, fourth jet rushed through the air, some of it splashing against her and some shooting past. It bubbled between her thighs and coated her skin in sticky heat, and the rush of it against her pussy mingled with the twitching of Peter's cock to tip her over the edge, clenching waves pumping through her one after another until stars glimmered across her vision and her whole body seemed to buzz.

As the sensations faded, she found herself breathing heavily, her body sticky and still radiating warmly and happily as she wriggled slightly in place, then peeled away into the air as Peter's cock slackened. Tinkerbell reached up to wipe away the cum on her face, flicking it into the air, and smiled down at the wrinkled, splattered mess of his tights. Hand on her hip, she cocked her head, and could not help feeling pleased as she surveyed her handiwork. She almost wished that she could be there when he woke up, but she would probably give herself away with her reaction.  
  
Shaking her wings to throw loose the large stray drops of white sticking to them, she fluttered up into the air and away, leaving Peter slipping into a deeper, more settled sleep. It certainly seemed to be one way to make peace, after all. One which - she paused to run a hand over her sodden dress, mind too warm and fuzzily happy to even consider arousal again just yet - she might consider repeating some time.  
  
She might even tell Peter about it. Perhaps.


End file.
